


Stargazing

by faithlessone



Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, i just wanted some soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24184195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: Lying awake in his tent, Trevelyan hears someone crying in the night. How will he cheer them up?
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756030
Comments: 16
Kudos: 31





	Stargazing

He always finds it hard to sleep while out on an expedition. Especially since Josie equipped his bedroom with that four-poster bed (which was far, far softer and more, more luxurious than anything he’s slept in since he left his family home in Ostwick, seventeen years before). Some nights, of course, he’s exhausted enough that he’s out like a candle the moment his head touches the bedroll, but those are rare, and today was just a quiet travelling day, nothing to tax his mana enough to knock him out.

He turns over in his bedroll for what feels like the hundredth time, trying to block out the sounds of the forest they find themselves at the edge of this evening. Low noises of animals and insects, the gentle breeze that buffets against his tent, even the crackle of the fire beyond. Despite the months he has been the Herald, and the Inquisitor, journeying from place to place and enduring some of the worst that Thedas has to offer, he’s still infinitely more comfortable in his tower bedroom, with the doors and windows barred against the night. In fact, he thinks, turning over once more, having endured some of the worst that Thedas has to offer, he’s increasingly convinced that being in his tower bedroom, with the doors and windows barred against the night, is the _only_ safe place to rest.

Outside, he hears the quiet murmuring of the scouts switching watch. Maker, has he really been lying here so long? He’s still so far from sleep.

Settling onto his back (and ignoring the cold ground seeping through the bedroll), he presses his eyes closed, trying to remain completely, perfectly still, in the hopes that his body will think his brain has fallen asleep already, and follow suit.

That was when he hears it.

A new sound in the night.

If he hadn’t been lying so completely, perfectly still, he isn’t sure he would have heard it at all. It doesn’t sound like an animal, nor the wind, but it sounds… familiar.

He opens his eyes.

Like a bolt of lightning to his soul, he knows that noise. He hasn’t heard it in a very long while, but he’d never forget it.

In the Circle, it had been a commonplace kind of sound in the dormitories. Particularly among the young apprentices, and the recently Harrowed.

Someone is crying into their pillow.

The polite thing to do at the Circle was ignore it, obviously. Everyone’s tears stopped eventually, and it wasn’t as if any of them could do anything much more than lend a friendly shoulder. To be honest, most of the Templars weren’t keen on them even doing that.

Here, though…

He tries to think back, remember if he’d heard anything like that on his expeditions before. No. If he had, he’d have done something about it. All his companions are so… strong.

Clumsily, he pushes himself up.

It can’t be Bull, he reasons, listening intently. He can’t imagine a universe where the qunari could make such a soft, delicate noise. Almost immediately, he feels like a cad for drawing such a conclusion, and begs the Maker that he’s right, because if he’s wrong, he’ll never forgive himself.

Cassandra can be soft, he knows, but it’s been a mountain of hard work to get her to show him any emotions other than disgust or quiet, reluctant pride. She always seems so self-assured and capable. He can’t envisage her crying.

Cole doesn’t seem the sort to cry in his tent either, but… he has been seeming more human and less spirit lately. And if any of them have a reason to be sniffling into their pillow on a long cold night, it would likely be their rogue.

Of course, it could be one of the scouts. They have three with them at the moment. All seasoned professionals, but that doesn’t necessarily mean much out here.

The noise stifles itself out for a long moment, and he almost lies back down, deciding to forget it. Then there’s a distinct, recognisable noise, a stutter of a snort, and another short burst of crying.

He pulls his boots on without even thinking about it, almost ripping the closure of his tent in his eagerness to get out.

It’s only once the scout (Davin? Devin?) leaps to his feet beside the fire that he questions himself. Maybe he should go back to his bedroll, try to sleep, ignore it. But he can’t resist gesturing for the scout to sit back down, and turning towards Cassandra’s tent.

The sound is almost covered by his few quiet footsteps, and he tries to think back to the last time their tents were set up side by side. It’s been a while. He hates to think that this _isn’t_ the first time; that she’s been crying in the middle of the night with him none the wiser.

“Cassandra?” he whispers, barely above his breath.

The noises cease, abruptly, and he can almost picture her clamping her hand over her mouth.

He sits down in the grass beside her tent, his back to the scout. (He can almost feel the man’s eyes on the back of his neck, but he ignores it).

“Cass, are you all right?”

A disgusted grunt issues from the canvas, and he smiles. He knew the nickname would get a rise out of her.

“You’re not injured, are you?”

Another grunt.

“You would tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you? Can’t have my favourite warrior out of sorts. We’ll all be cut down in moments without you.”

“Go to _sleep_ , Inquisitor.”

It’s probably just his imagination that her voice is thick with tears, right?

“Shan’t,” he replies, keeping his voice light. “My mind won’t shut up, so I’ve decided to do something very stupid.”

There’s a rustle of movement and then the tent opens and he sees her face. Even in the smallest glimmer of firelight, he can tell her eyes are red, and her cheeks are slightly shining with damp tear tracks. She runs a hand through her hair, making it even more of a mess than it was before, not that he would ever tell her that, and glowers at him in the way that only she can.

“How stupid?”

He can’t help but smirk, the left side of his mouth lifting without his permission.

“Come see?”

She disappears back within, and just for a moment, he thinks he’s messed up totally, that she’s gone back to her bedroll to ignore him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Not even the tenth, if he’s honest with himself. He’s still fairly sure she hasn’t _completely_ forgiven him for inadvertently abandoning her in that spider cave on the Storm Coast last month when he, Sera and Dorian had made a… tactical retreat.

Then she comes back out, a long cloak wrapped around her and her boots on. He gets to his feet and offers her his hand. She glances at it, and then glowers again.

“What stupidity were you intending?”

Realising he hadn’t actually come up with anything, he has a momentary panic. However, all he really wants is to get her away from the camp, where hopefully she’ll loosen up, so he turns and strides away into the trees surrounding their little clearing.

She follows.

(He’s glad.)

They walk for a few minutes. The tension between them is somewhat palpable, and he needs to think of something soon. He suspects she’s already fairly aware that he was making an excuse simply to spend time with her, as it’s not exactly an uncommon occurrence, especially in the recent weeks, but there’s a difference between catching her at sword-practice and asking for her advice on his latest endeavours, and practically kidnapping her from her tent in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. The former rarely grants him more than a few wise sentences before she politely dismisses him, so he can’t imagine she’ll have much patience for the latter.

Then, suddenly, they reach a river bank. Barely more than a stream with delusions of grandeur. On the other side is a clear, sloping plain, stretching away in a gentle valley towards distant hills. He tilts his head up a little, and all he can see are stars.

“You wanted to bathe in a stream?” Cassandra asks.

It’s the first thing she’s said since they left the camp, and he can’t help but smile down at her.

“No.”

She looks around.

“Then what else?”

An image comes to him. A memory of the Circle, of his life _before_ he was the Herald, or the Inquisitor.

Taking advantage of a momentary burst of courage, he gets near to the edge of the bank and lies down on the grass. It’s loamy and a little damp, and he almost instantly regrets not pulling on his cloak before they left, even in this mild night, but he’s come too far not to commit now.

“Inquisitor? How is this stupid?”

“Well, we’re all alone in the night, and no one knows where we are. Unarmed. Vulnerable. Easy pickings for anything that comes our way.” He’s knows that he’s not being entirely truthful. Even without a staff, he’s hardly unarmed, and if Cassandra doesn’t have a dagger or two in her boots, he would be astonished. But it’s the principle of the thing. “That’s fairly stupid behaviour for the Herald of Andraste, wouldn’t you agree?”

“This is not as stupid as I was expecting.”

There’s an ever so slight hint of amusement, and perhaps, relief in her tone, and he squashes the urge to thank her, patting the ground beside him instead.

“Come on, stargaze with me. Perfect way to calm your brain down after a long day. I have it on very good authority.”

She makes a very disagreeing noise, and, for a moment, he thinks she’s going to turn around and stomp back to camp, but then…

“On whose authority?”

He smiles again, wider and brighter, because suddenly he knows how he’s going to fill the silence that has become near unbearable between them, and hopefully distract her from whatever made her so sad.

“Come here, and I’ll tell you. A little bedtime story?”

She makes another disagreeing noise, and then removes her cloak, lying down on top of it. So much more sensible than him, but that’s hardly news.

“There was a girl,” he starts, when she’s settled on her back, achingly close to him. “In the Circle, I mean. This happened before my harrowing, perhaps five years before I went to the Conclave? The very first night after she was brought in, she tried to escape the tower. Not… _escape_ escape. We had a courtyard in the middle of the keep, a little area of grass for contemplation and a garden for useful herbs. Strictly guarded, of course. We were only allowed out there under supervision, and never after dark. But she was older than the average new apprentice. Her parents had a dozen children, and they’d managed to keep her magic under wraps until she was almost seventeen. She was used to so much more freedom than most of us. She crept out of the dormitory and tried to break into the garden.”

Trailing off, he glances over at her. He isn’t sure what reaction he’s expecting her to have. If he’d told this story to a templar, he’s certain they would have had something to say, but… seekers are different. But she’s just lying there, gazing up. Still and peaceful. As the pause drags on, she looks over; not demanding, not questioning, just waiting for him to continue. So he does.

“I was on my way back to my room from the library. I had… special permission to be out late. Good behaviour and a sterling reputation for following the rules.”

She makes a soft noise that could be a laugh and he glances over at her again.

“I know, I know. I was so young and innocent then. How things have changed! But in any case, I was walking around the corner near the stairs, and she ran straight into me. Literally. Almost knocked me down. To begin with, I thought she was actually trying to leave. She wouldn’t have been the first, of course. But she pushed past me to the gate, and tried to unlock it with her magic.”

“It would not open, though,” Cassandra interjects, when he hesitates again.

He can’t help the smile that spreads over his face. “No. I doubt even the First Enchanter could have spelled that lock to open. Templar crafted. So she starts hitting it, thumping the door with her fists, and Maker, all I could think was that she was going to bring the whole contingent running. I had half a mind to flee the scene, leave her to her no doubt grim fate, but…”

“You helped her.”

He grimaces. “After a fashion. First, I grabbed her by the wrist and put my hand over her mouth to stop her screaming, which she would have been entirely right to do, by the way. When she saw I was wearing apprentice robes and not templar armour, she… she bit me.”

Cassandra chuckles beside him, and his smile grows ever brighter because of it.

“When we both calmed down, I managed to glean that she just wanted to see the stars. It was what she was used to, you see. Every night, she and her siblings would go outside and look at the stars before they went to sleep. Even if it was a cloudy day, they could still look into the black and imagine where the stars would be. But it was midsummer, at the time, and she had been sent to bed before the sun set. She missed her brothers and sisters, and just wanted to see the stars.”

“Were there no windows in your Circle?” she asks.

“Not much more than arrow-slits in the apprentice dormitories. Not wide enough to really look out of, and only overlooking the garden, not the outer walls. Didn’t want us getting ideas about… jumping out. Some of the senior rooms had actual windows, with stained glass. But there was one classroom, up in the top of the tallest tower, with windows all around it. Proper ones. Clear glass. We had astronomy lessons there sometimes. It would have been locked, of course, but…” he trails off again, suddenly remembering where this story goes.

“But?” she prompts, rolling onto her side and propping up her head on her hand so she can see him better.

“There was a templar,” he continues. “A female templar. She was nice… Nothing happened. Between us, I mean. Nothing. I promise.”

She chuckles again, and if he hadn’t been so embarrassed, he’d have delighted in making her laugh twice in one conversation (a personal record).

“She was just… nice. Not weak, she was as strict as any of them when she needed to be, but she was fair. Her family wanted her to go to the chantry, become a Mother; maybe even Divine, eventually, but she refused, so they compromised on her joining as a templar instead. Her older sister was a mage. Not at our circle, obviously. She was Orlesian.”

Beside him, she makes the smallest disgusted noise. Considering her close friendship with Leliana, he finds this a little hypocritical, but he won’t draw attention to it tonight.

“They often stationed her with the young apprentices, and she was on patrol near the garden that evening. She… found us. Of course, you can imagine what she thought was happening.”

“A tryst?”

“I put on my most charming voice and tried to explain the situation. The girl – Octarine. That was her name. Octarine, she started crying and begged the templar to open the gate.”

“And she did?” Her voice is curious rather than disapproving.

His turn to laugh. “No! Maker, can you imagine? She’d have been hauled up on charges before she could blink, and we’d have both been in solitary for a month. The garden was _strictly_ off-limits after dark.”

“This is not the kind of story I was expecting, Inquisitor.”

He takes a risk.

“Brennan.”

“What?”

“Call me Brennan. At least out here. We’re alone, there’s no one to disapprove. I can’t even remember the last time someone called me by name, without adding a title to it. Certainly before I got this.” He lifts his hand, the anchor sparking gently in the dark of the night. “Please?”

“As you wish… Brennan.” His first name sounds awkward from her mouth, but he’s overjoyed to hear it. He was expecting more of a fight.

“Thank you. And, well, that’s not the end of it. Because the garden was strictly off limits after dark, but… the astronomy classroom was only off-limits outside of _lessons_. Which had to happen after dark, of course. I was an apprentice still, just, but… I knew one of our senior enchanters was likely still in the library I had just left, and she was authorised to give astronomy instruction.”

“So many women in this story.” Her tone is almost teasing.

He can’t help but laugh. “Not much different from the Inquisition! If it weren’t for Cullen in the war room, I would feel hopelessly outnumbered. You and Josie and Leliana and Madame de Fer and Commander Helaine giving me orders all day long. Not to mention Dagna and Sera and Enchanter Fiona seemingly everywhere I turn, and Scout Harding whenever I leave the fortress…”

“Quite so.”

(Is it his imagination, or does her gaze soften on him? It must be the moonlight.)

“In any case, I hastened back to the library, and found her – Senior Enchanter Jonquil – and asked her if an impromptu astronomy lesson would be out of the question. She wasn’t happy to be disturbed from her work, but I talked her round.”

“Of course you did. Silver-tongue.”

He forces back an urge to let her know what else his tongue is good at, expecting (correctly) that it would not serve him well in the least at this point.

“She was quite sympathetic, as it happened, when the situation had been explained. Turned out she came from a big family too, and remembered the feeling of being torn from her siblings, even so many years later. We made it to the top of the tower, with Octarine and the templar, without incident. Senior Enchanter Jonquil took Octarine under her wing after that. Made certain that she could have astronomy lessons every now and again, to keep her calm. She got to see her stars, and learned that living in the Circle was not all bad.”

“You were her knight in shining armour.”

He ducks his head and closes his eyes, hoping that the dim light hides the flush that he is certain must be spreading across his cheeks. “Shining robes, perhaps. The templar was the only one there in armour.”

A gentle pressure lands on the arm he has thrown behind his head, and his eyes fly open. It’s Cassandra’s hand, tenderly caressing his bicep.

“Her knight,” she repeats.

He wants so badly to take her hand in his, or perhaps to wrap that arm around her and pull her close, but he can’t bring himself to take that much of a risk tonight. Everything that’s happening right now is so far beyond what he expected when he was tossing and turning in his bedroll. If he isn’t, in fact, dreaming right now, and this version of Cassandra is naught but a desire demon. He hates that that actually sounds a little more likely.

“It was nothing,” he says instead.

“To you, perhaps. To her, it was everything.”

The moment lengthens between them, caught between breaths. As if neither of them want to break whatever spell they have created together in the telling of a story under the stars in the middle of nowhere.

‘How can I be _your_ everything?’ he wants to say, but he doesn’t.

“A good bedtime story, then?” he says instead, when the silence grows too much to bear.

She pulls her hand away, rolling onto her back, and he wishes he’d never said anything. Wishes he didn’t always have to fill the silence. Wishes he’d taken more time to catalogue the feeling of her fingers on him, even through the thin linen of his undershirt.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” she interrupts. “It is I who should be sorry. You should be asleep in your tent, resting from the day’s ride and preparing for whatever we will meet tomorrow. You should not have had to comfort me.”

“I wasn’t…”

“Comfort me,” she repeats, her voice firm though she still can’t meet his eyes.

He rolls onto his side, mirroring her former pose.

“What if I said that this was as much to comfort myself as to comfort you?”

She side-eyes him, suspiciously. “I’d say you were lying.”

“I told you I couldn’t sleep.”

“A polite fiction.”

“How did I hear you if I weren’t already awake?”

She has no response to that one, and it makes him just the slightest bit smug.

“Cassandra, I’m not going to ask you to tell me what happened, but, I’m here. And I’ll listen, if you want me to. I’m… I like to think I’m good at that.”

She closes her eyes, crossing her arms defensively and a little, tiny, infinitesimal piece of him dies inside.

“As I said, I’m not going to ask. We can just… look at the stars.”

He rolls back, cursing himself for bringing it up at all. Idiot.

The minutes pass, and he loses track of them. Even if he managed to make it as awkward as he did, and the cold of the earth is seeping through his undershirt and directly into his bones, there’s something wonderful about just lying next to her, alone in the night. He leaves the arm next to her down by his side, using the other as a pillow, just in case. In case of what, he’s not sure, but it seems prudent.

Unconsciously, he wonders what it would be like if they hadn’t met the way they did. If he didn’t have the anchor in his hand and the fate of the whole world on his shoulders. If he wasn’t a mage and she weren’t a seeker. If he’d just been introduced to her at an Ostwick ball, some very minor member of Nevarran royalty who his mother thought would be an excellent match for her second-eldest son. Would they have flirted? Danced? Would he have stolen her away to a deserted corner of the grounds he barely remembers, to lie and stargaze like this?

After what might have been only a few minutes, or as much as a few hours, he hears her stir, and then…

“It was the dragon.”

The sound of her voice brings him startlingly back to reality, but he doesn’t dare look at her. He’s not sure whether to prompt her for more or just let the words hang until she continues. It’s not hard to glean that she’s talking about the events of the previous week, the dragon they had fought in Crestwood for terrorising the local populace and eating their livestock. Not the first one he’d killed, but…

Oh.

The first with Cassandra beside him.

He hadn’t even…

Her brother.

He waits.

“I did not think it would affect me so,” she continues, eventually. “Fighting it was not a pleasure, despite how much the Bull whooped and cheered, but it was a worthy challenge. The village will no longer have to live in fear. We did a good thing. And yet…”

She trails off again, and he turns his hand palm up, ready, waiting, resisting the urge to reach over and try to take hers.

“When it finally fell, my first thought was of Anthony, and how proud he would be of me. How proud he would be of all of us. I was… pleased. Then we were so busy. The celebration at the keep, the preparations to leave, those bandits on the road when we first set off… But today was so quiet. It gave me space to think.”

He risks a glance at her, giving her a sad, soft smile when he sees her looking back.

“It has been a very long time. I should not be crying.”

Her voice trembles, and he can’t help himself, rolling back onto his side and placing his now free hand carefully between them.

“Hey, hey, no. There’s no shame in grief. It matters little how much time has passed. What is important is that you let it out. When was the last time you let yourself feel sad?”

She swallows deeply, choking back the tears, and then, as if she’s not even consciously aware of doing it, her hand finds his.

“I do not remember.”

“There’s no one here to disapprove, Cassandra. If you need to let it out, let it out. I promise you’ll feel better if you do.”

“No, I must be _strong_.”

The fervour in her voice guts him.

He squeezes her hand, just slightly. Enough for her to feel it.

“You are. You’re _so_ strong. Do you think I would have survived this long if you weren’t? Maker, I can’t count the number of times I would have died if you hadn’t pulled some demon’s focus while I was trying to close a rift. Or used your shield to block a blow meant for me. Or herded bandits into a pack so my chain lightning hits them all. You are probably the strongest person I know, Cassandra. But that doesn’t mean you can’t let someone else take care of you. Just every once in a while.”

“Someone?”

“ _Me_. I mean me. Let me take care of you. You don’t have to tell anyone, I’ll keep it a secret until my grave if you wish, but…”

She raises an eyebrow at that.

“Be _my_ knight in shining armour?”

Perhaps he should be serious, because he’s been waiting and wishing for her to say that for months, if he’s honest, but it’s not in his nature not to at least try to brighten her mood.

“Knight in shining robes, at your service.”

She smiles, almost reluctantly, and then it fractures, and she seems to curl in on herself, shaking sobs wracking her body without her consent. He gives up propriety, gives up caring if she retreats from him, and pulls her into his arms, rolling back so she ends up half-on-top of him, head pillowed safely on his chest.

He loses track of how long she cries, just keeps holding her, letting her twist her fists into his undershirt and bury her face into the crook of his neck. Without jostling her too much, he manages to fish her cloak off the grass behind her and pull it over the both of them.

Eventually the sobs fade away, and her breathing evens out.

Asleep.

Still in his arms.

He continues to lie there, as still as he can, relishing the feeling that he hasn’t ever let himself hope to experience.

As the sun begins to peep over the horizon, hours later, she stirs.

He’s been preparing, mentally, for all kinds of reactions. Awkwardness, embarrassment, fury; for her pushing him away or ignoring him entirely. By now, he’s fairly resigned to this being a one-off, a momentary aberration in their usual professional relationship.

What he’s not expecting is for her to take a deep breath as she wakes, slowly un-clenching her hands from his shirt, but leaving them pressed lightly against his chest, and then look up at him in absolute… wonder.

“You stayed,” she says, so soft he almost doesn’t catch it.

“Always,” he promises.

She nods, silently, the wonder in her eyes not fading.

He smiles what he hopes is a comforting, encouraging smile. “Do you feel better?”

She doesn’t answer, but curls back into him for a moment, inhaling once more, before pulling back from him and moving one of her hands to prop herself up. The cloak slips from her shoulders, and he grabs for it instinctively, tucking it back around her, leaving him exposed.

“Thank you.”

He takes it that she doesn’t just mean the cloak, and nods. “You’re welcome. At your service, anytime.”

After another long, long moment, she finally pushes herself fully off him, and, when she’s clear, he sits up. He suspects, given her slightly horrified glance as she gets a good look at him, that his undershirt is ruined. Muddy, crumpled and tear-stained.

(As soon as he’s back at camp, he’s going to take it off carefully and hide it, unwashed but carefully wrapped in oilcloth, at the bottom of his pack. A memento.)

“Do you want to go back to camp separately?” he asks, trying not to sound wary. “There may be… talk.”

Though he’s expecting one of her usual disgusted noises, she laughs, pulling on her boots before rising to her feet. “There will be talk in any case, Brennan. At least if we return together, it will seem there is less to hide.”

He nods, secretly pleased as he follows suit. His boots are cold and his feet a little damp, and he’s very glad that they will be riding today and not walking, or his feet would be a mess of blisters before lunch time, but he finds he doesn’t care when Cassandra gives him another soft smile.

Besides, she called him by his name again.

They walk back through the trees, not holding hands, but close enough that they could, with no trace of the tension that had dogged them last night. He relishes these last few moments, letting himself hope beyond hope that it won’t be the last time.

When they get back to camp, the only person around the fire is the third scout, who salutes silently and returns to cooking breakfast, entirely unbothered. Leliana has clearly trained them well. Cassandra gives him one last soft smile, and then disappears inside her tent.

Moments later, Bull emerges from his.

“Morning, boss,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “Good night?”

He can’t stop himself from smirking, even though he’s fairly sure the sneaky qunari knows exactly what happened. “Can’t complain.”

“Good to hear. Hey, Raff, that breakfast ready? I’m so hungry I’d eat _you_!”

The scout starts dishing up, and Brennan takes the excuse to duck inside his tent and change, hearing the sounds of the rest of their small party waking up and starting their day.

(That night, he’s out like a candle the moment his head touches his bedroll, but he dreams of a river bank, and the stars, and a promise…)


End file.
